


Coming Undone

by PenguinofProse



Series: Season 7 speculation [14]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, S7 speculation, Smut, boots are difficult, smut with feelings, unlacing logistics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy shows up at the door of Clarke's room in Bardo to make a certain confession.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Season 7 speculation [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783594
Comments: 19
Kudos: 155





	Coming Undone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyZouzou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyZouzou/gifts).



> Here's smutty Saturday! Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this and to Zou and Pris for all their input. This is set in some miscellaneous S7 future where Bellamy and Clarke are both on Bardo. Happy reading!

Clarke doesn't believe it's real, at first.

"What was that?" She asks, stunned.

"I love you." Bellamy repeats, a little more loudly this time.

"You love me?" She frowns, looks up and down his white robes, eyes flickering to the door of her room – which is firmly shut, thank goodness. "If you love me, why are we still here?"

"That's exactly why we're still here." He says, or rather _growls_. "I know you think you had a plan to get everyone back to Sanctum, but it wouldn't have worked out. Cadogan would have killed you."

Yes, she's very aware of that. But now Bellamy's pointed it out, and mentioned that he loves her, too, she supposes that the whole situation makes rather more sense. Normally she's the one who's good at using cool logic under pressure, out of the two of them, but in her defence she's had a very strange couple of days.

She's pretty certain love confessions are supposed to go a little differently from this, but there's nothing to be done about that now.

She therefore presses on with a more useful question. "So you've been under cover this whole time?"

"Of course I've been under cover. Isn't that what I _do_?" He asks, audibly frustrated. "You didn't think I would actually turn you in like that without some other plan in mind?"

"I don't know what to think any more." She whispers, somewhere between sad and annoyed, as she stares at the floor.

It really has been a long few days – or maybe a long few _years_.

All at once, Bellamy's voice grows soft and his hand is cradling her chin and tilting her face up towards his. "Hey. Hey, it's OK, Clarke. I'm sorry, that was a lot. Forget I said anything. Let's just work on getting out of here safe."

"I don't want to forget it." She insists. "I love you. I thought you knew that?"

"How am I supposed to have known that when you've never said it?" He sounds more exasperated than frustrated now, at least.

She gives a hollow laugh. "We're terrible at this, aren't we?"

"We just haven't had enough practice yet." He says smoothly, hand still cradling her face. "We've been a bit busy saving the human race, from what I remember."

She rewards his effort to lighten the atmosphere with a small smile and a poor joke of her own. "Don't you think you'd better let go of my face some time? I figure the Disciples might find that suspicious."

"There are no cameras in here. I checked."

She admits defeat, at that. She admits defeat in a glorious mess of kisses – kisses on his lips, his jaw, his neck. Kisses on his cheek, on the lobe of his ear, just because.

He loves her, and there are no cameras in here, and at last she can kiss him.

It seems, though, that he has an agenda here. It seems that he wants to kiss her _back_. He reclaims her cheek with that gentle hand, steers her lips up to meet his. And then they share a kiss that is rather less frantic, rather less confusing, and rather more purposeful.

This, Clarke thinks, is a kiss that is going places. This kiss is all teeth and tongues and is steering them towards the bed at a frankly dizzying pace.

That's probably for the best. She's sure that the Disciples will get suspicious if Bellamy stays in her room for too long. With that decided, she sets her arms at his waist and starts walking him back in the direction of the bed.

But then she realises what she's doing, and second guesses herself. This is _Bellamy_. And sure, it's been a long time since the dropship, but she recalls all too clearly that he used to have a string of admirers back then, that he seriously knows what he's doing in the bedroom. She heard enough of the hundred gush about his skills. What does she think she's doing, trying to set the pace? This is his area of expertise. She believes him when he says that he loves her, but she cannot for a moment forget that he is the _sexy_ one out of the two of them, and she's just the best friend he somehow miraculously decided he could fall in love with.

"You doing alright?" He asks, pulling away from the kiss for a second. "Is this OK?"

She nods, smiling slightly nervously. She's grown almost immune to loaded guns since she left the Ark, but it turns out teetering on the brink of sex with the best friend she's been in love with for centuries is kind of frightening. How is she supposed to act? What if he doesn't love her once he's seen her naked?

"What do you want to do?" Another question from Bellamy.

Clarke frowns. "I thought – I mean, I was hoping we were going to – you know."

He grins. "Yeah. That's what I'm hoping. Just wondered if you have any requests. Preferences or whatever."

She finds herself frowning even deeper. Isn't he supposed to call the shots? Didn't she just decide that?

This was so much easier when they were simply making out.

She decides to put that right, at least a little, by reaching up for a resounding kiss. "Whatever the hell you want." She tells him, trying for a light tone. She almost succeeds, she thinks.

He gives a delighted laugh, pulls her in for more kisses. At the same time he tugs her jacket off her shoulders, tosses it into the corner.

"That's better." He murmurs. "I can touch you, now."

Sure enough, he does. His hands seem to be everywhere, all at once, first skimming the line of her hips where shirt meets trousers, now cupping her breast through her clothes. It's a little unfair, she thinks, that he's still wearing that hated white robe. She wants to take it off, but once again, she's not sure whether she's supposed to be taking the initiative round here.

She reaches for the fastening. "Can I?" She asks.

"Mmhmm." He agrees, still kissing her.

She takes off his robe and lets it fall the the floor. She hopes it stains. No, that's a churlish thought, and won't actually help save their friends. But, for the record, she really does think he looks better in that black guard jacket he used to wear than in white.

Bellamy breaks the kiss for a moment to pull her shirt off over her head. She takes the hint, gets rid of his white undershirt, too. She can't quite believe this is really happening, after all these years, but it's true. They're here, undressing each other, and he's fondling her breasts through her bra. She wonders about taking it off, but then recalls her resolution that he's supposed to take the lead on this one.

"Sit down." He requests.

She does as he asks. She perches on the edge of the bed, looking up at him expectantly.

He kneels at her feet.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

"Taking your boots off." He explains, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She nods, smiles a little, and lets him get on with it.

Only the thing is, he _doesn't_ get on with it. Not quickly, anyway. He unties the knot on one of her high boots and starts unthreading the laces with almost painstaking care. She represses the urge to sigh. Stupid boots that she stupidly wore. At this rate, neither of them will be in the mood by the time he's finished.

She reaches down to help him.

"No. I can do it." He insists.

"OK. Sure. Just – it was taking a while."

"I can speed up." He insists.

He can't, it turns out. He tries to speed up, but makes a real mess of it, and ends up getting her laces tangled together. He laughs, and she's certain the sound is forced.

"What is this?" He asks with false brightness. "Is this knitting? And you said _my_ clothes were ridiculous."

She smiles gently. She knows Bellamy pretty damn well by now, so she knows that's him trying to divert her attention with humour.

"I'm sorry." She mutters. "They're stupid boots. Let me -"

"They're not stupid. They look good." He swallows loudly. "I mean, _you_ look good. Really good. And they're part of your outfit so I like them." He insists, stubborn as ever.

"You think I look good?" She cannot resist asking, hopeful, cheeks growing warm.

He abandons her bootlaces for a moment to look right into her eyes. "Of course I think you look good. What did you think we were doing here? I love you, you're gorgeous, even your boots look good." He summarises firmly.

"You look really good too." She tells him. It's silly, because they've established they love each other, and he must know that she finds him hot. But she's still a little shy about saying it. Again, with the loaded guns being less frightening than the depth of her feelings for this man.

"Thanks." He frowns. "Thought you hated the outfit?"

She reaches out for his hand. "I hated what I thought the outfit stood for. But you're still you, and you still look great. Now how about we each take our own shoes off and then report back?"

He laughs, pulls her in for a hearty kiss. And then he perches himself on the bed at her side and unlaces his simple white shoes while she finishes sorting out the mess he has made with her bootlaces. It doesn't take him long, and it does take her a while, so when he's finished he sits there with an arm around her while she works. It's pretty lovely, really. She wonders whether they might be able to sit like this more often if ever they manage to stop fighting wars.

She suggests that to him, and he presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I'd like that. Can we go back to what we were doing now?"

She agrees to that readily enough, and they start making out again. Only this time they seem to be lying down on the bed, rather than sitting on the edge as they were only moments ago, and Bellamy already seems to be tugging at her belt and trying to get her trousers out of the way.

He sure doesn't waste time. Well, apart from the last hundred and thirty two years.

She unhooks her bra, then remembers that he's supposed to take the lead. But she's gone and done it, now. Should she fasten it again? Should she -?

"So gorgeous." He mutters, tugging her breasts free. "Good timing, Clarke. Was just about to do that myself."

It seems like she got away with that. She relaxes for a bit, focuses on taking off the last of Bellamy's clothes. Meanwhile he toys with her breasts, kisses along her neck, generally seems to want to explore as much of her as he can reach. She thinks she'd feel a bit self-conscious of this, were it not for the fact that he's so vocal and appreciative as he takes in the sight of every part of her.

They're both naked, now, kissing and touching as they lie on the bed together. Clarke thinks it's probably time to take things up a gear, but of course she's not going to be the judge of that.

OK, maybe she is going to be the judge of that. Just a little bit. She reaches down with a hand to start teasing Bellamy's cock. He's already hard, which she decides is rather flattering but perhaps not surprising. They've both been waiting for this a long time, after all. And then he's reaching down to her crotch in turn, spreading the wetness he finds there, checking how ready she is with gentle fingers.

She's very ready, for the record. She's never been more ready in her life.

Bellamy seems to agree with that assessment. He makes a sort of growling noise low in his throat, presses a wet kiss to her collarbone.

And then he rolls away and lies flat on his back in the middle of the bed.

Clarke doesn't entirely follow what's going on here. If he's established that they're ready to get on with the screwing part, why is he running away? This feels like something that Bree or Roma or Fox would have understood, she thinks. And as for Echo, who slept with him for three years – there is no doubt in Clarke's mind that she would know _exactly_ what to do in this moment.

Clarke just stares at him and waits for a clue.

"Come on." He beckons, grinning.

She crawls towards him slowly. He's flat on his back, his cock jutting straight up in the air. Maybe he's trying to sort of _present_ it to her? Maybe he's offering it up to be sucked?

She's never sucked a cock before. She's slept with more girls than guys, and it's not as if she and Finn lingered over that one hook up.

All the same, she doesn't want to let Bellamy down. She closes the distance between them, and then lowers her head. For want of anything better to do, she starts by pressing a soft kiss to the tip. Then she decides she ought to explore a little further, tries a soft lick along the length of his cock.

To her confusion, Bellamy reaches a hand towards her and hold her face still.

"That's great, but not quite what I had in mind." He murmurs.

She flushes. Of course, she had to go and screw up. "Sorry. What did you want me to do?"

He's looking at her strangely, frowning hard. She tries for a smile, but it doesn't feel right on her face.

"Clarke. It's not just about what I want." His eyes flicker off to one side. "If I'm being honest, I kind of want it to be more about what _you_ want." He's normally a very direct man, so this puzzles her. Is he perhaps feeling nervous, too?

"What do you mean?" She asks outright.

He still won't meet her eyes. "I was hoping you might want to get on top and set the pace. If you want to, of course. Or we can do something else."

"You want me to set the pace?"

Again with the lack of eye contact. "Only if you want. I just thought – you know, you're good at being in charge."

Well, then. That changes things. So much for him taking the lead through experience. Sure, he's done this more often than she has. But he couldn't have made it more clear that he's turned on by the thought of her taking the lead here if he had it emblazoned on a neon sign, she thinks.

She clambers awkwardly up the length of his body so she can cup his jaw. She turns his face slightly, forces him to look her in the eyes. She's seen Bellamy flustered before now, but this is clearly embarrassment on a whole new level.

She summons her courage. She kisses him firmly on the mouth. And then she sits up fully, arranges herself cautiously, and sinks down onto his cock.

"I want this." She confirms easily, because it's the honest truth. "I want you."

He grins, reaches up to cup her breast. "You look so good on top of me like this."

She flushes, but she doesn't reply. She's a bit busy biting her lip and rocking her hips and holding back a moan. This is, she thinks, proof if any were needed that they should have got together years ago.

He sets his hands on her hips, urging her to move faster. She's only too happy to oblige, riding him with a quicker rhythm, grinding hard against him at the end of each stroke.

"So good." She gasps, not sure whether she's thanking him for his contribution or congratulating herself for finally working up the courage to take this step.

He groans. That's the only answer he gives her. But she thinks it sounds like a happy groan, so that's good enough for her.

It's not long before she feels that she's about to fall apart. She'd be embarrassed at being such a hot mess for him, were it not for the fact that he's plainly feeling the same way. His eyes are a little glazed over as he stares up at her, his breath coming in short pants. He's gripping her hips tight and grimacing with pleasure.

And then he moans her name.

That's what sends her spiralling over the edge. And then he's there, too, spilling inside of her, sighing a long and content sigh.

She likes that. She'd give anything to see him like this more often, happy and relaxed and dozy with contentment.

She climbs off him and tucks herself in at his side. She thinks there are a few things they need to discuss, but she doesn't see why they can't cuddle while talking about the serious issues, now that they've established they're in love and all.

"So I guess what we've learnt here is that it might take some practice before our communication in the bedroom is as good as our communication outside of it." She says, tone level.

"Mmhmm."

"That's all the answer I'm getting?"

He chuckles a little. "Sorry. Not sure I can talk right now."

She laughs, smacks him softly on the chest. She should have known that it would be like this, if ever they got together – teasing and laughing in a small bedroom in the midst of enemy territory. They've always had a frankly alarming habit of tangling affection and humour with life-and-death situations.

"You're right." He acknowledges quietly. "But we'll get there. Just as soon as we've dealt with these Disciples and we can go home in peace."

"Yeah. We need to work out how we're going to do that."

"We do." He agrees.

And yet, somehow, they do not work it out here and now. For once in their lives they take a short break, just a few minutes to hold each other close. Clarke finds herself drawing lines across Bellamy's chest with her fingertips, while he rakes his hands through her hair. It's blissful. That's the word she decides on – a word she hasn't ever had cause to use, she thinks, since they left the Ark all those years ago.

They do need to get on with making a plan sooner or later. Their friends are depending on them – and quite possibly the entire human race. But that will still be the case whether they stay here another two minutes or another two hours, she thinks.

She trails her fingers a little lower – not chest, now, but stomach. Bellamy has a nice stomach, firm and toned, but perhaps slightly softer than it was in his dropship days. That's certainly not a problem – he's not twenty-three any more, but he's still very much the guy she fell in love with.

She takes her fingers lower still, begins to tease the place where stomach meets hips, and the curls around the base of his cock. After all, she's now established that he likes it when she takes a bit of initiative in the bedroom, that her personality is more important to him than her skills or experience. And as it happens, she's very much in the mood for round two. She only wants a bit of a clue as to whether he might be receptive to that suggestion.

She passes a little too close to his cock, brushes it with a fingertip. He gives a slight twitch, lets out a sharp breath. He's still soft, but perhaps not quite as soft as he was a couple of minutes ago.

What the hell. It's worth a try. The worst that can happen is he says no.

"We should figure out what we're doing to save our friends." She tells him mildly.

"Yeah." He doesn't sound enthusiastic – more resigned.

"We could have sex again first."

"I thought you'd never ask." He laughs, rolling her over, already seeking out her lips with a frantic kiss.

Saving the human race will have to wait a few minutes, it seems. Because this moment is all about them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
